


The Good Bit

by glorious_clio



Series: Inserted Scenes [11]
Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: F/M, hurt comfort, still trash for this ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-21
Updated: 2011-01-21
Packaged: 2020-10-06 00:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20497865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_clio/pseuds/glorious_clio
Summary: Set after 2x06 "For England" A little bit of Robin Marian Hurt/Comfort fluff for us all to enjoy.





	The Good Bit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neftzer_nettlestonenell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neftzer_nettlestonenell/gifts).

> This is dedicated to Neftzer, who deserves it for being such an excellent beta. As such, this is unbeta'd, because I wanted it to be a surprise. (If there are any mistakes, though, feel free to tell me.)

Marian had been plotting her escape from Winchester's carriage when she was rescued. Not by Robin, but by Sir Guy.

She could not help but thank him, he (and oddly, the Sheriff) had made the job easier. But it was still a surprise. Marian was not sure why she was thanking them, really. Sir Guy and the Sheriff were the ones who had used her as collateral. Neither of them had the good grace to even look apologetic.

Sir Guy removed the shackles, hurting her wrists where the iron cuffs had been too tight. She held back a hiss of pain, refusing to let tears flood her eyes. From the pain, and from relief at not being taken by this horrible, traitorous man. So Winchester had loved her mother? Well, if he had, he would have allowed Kate's daughter to enter into such a contract by choice. Not force. Not that Marian would have agreed.

Sir Guy helped her onto his horse and climbed, awkwardly, in front of her.

While she knew that they would not have been able to bring a horse for her own use, she was still reluctant to ride with a man that was so willing to turn her freedom over for a grasp at power.

_Where was Robin?_ She hated herself for thinking it, for assuming that he would save her. For expecting him to save her.

She searched the tree-line, her eyes accustomed to looking for him amongst the green.

_There he was_. Marian almost sighed in relief. She could not help loving him for being there, and with no one watching her, she could not take her eyes off him until he was out of sight. She would not have had to escape her shackles alone. Even as she rode back to Nottingham behind Sir Guy, to yet more shackles and prisons, she yearned for the freedom of the forest.

The small rescue party rode into the castle gates. Marian dismounted before Sir Guy to save him from having to help her down. Or save herself from his touch any longer. Stable hands rushed out to take their noble steeds. She brushed some of the dust off her red traveling costume, regretting wearing such a bright color when she had intended on joining Robin's gang.

"Shall I escort you to dinner?" Sir Guy asked tossing his reins to a small page.

The Sheriff was marching off in disgust, muttering about the pact, about Sussex, and about incompetent fools.

"No, Sir Guy, I am afraid today's events have tired me." Shrinking violet. He underestimated her strength, so she played her weaknesses up. Though in truth, she wanted to take care of her wrists and ankles, lest the wounds become infected.

"Shall I escort you to your chambers, then?"

"No, I can manage it, I think."

"Very well, I shall send up a tray of food for you."

"Thank you, Sir Guy," though she knew she might be too tired to eat it. He must have forgotten about the damage shackles could do on skin that was not used to the restraints. Though she could not imagine Sir Guy ever being clapped in irons, he had to know the effects, after observing so many prisoners over the years.

He was not truly apologetic about the situation. He_ was_ sorry for nearly losing her. But Sir Guy would have gotten over her quickly enough.

Lifting her skirts, she followed a servant who was bringing the bag she had time to pack. She had thought she was running away, so the bag contained practical clothing, knives, and baubles to give to Robin's community chest. Instead, Sir Guy led her, not to the West Gate where he had bribed one of his own guards, but straight to the chambers of Winchester.

She opened the door. Everything in her room was a mess.

Marian sighed. Turning her back to the chaos, she rolled back a sleeve and began to take inventory of the damage done to her left wrist. The skin was red, ragged, and torn in places. She gently ran her thumb over the broken skin. It hurt. A lot.

She went to her desk, to see what she had for remedies.

On the top, above everything was a small piece of parchment, addressed to _My Dearest Marian_.

It could only be from one person.

"_I fear we may not meet again in this life. We are both to be betrayed by Winchester. I cannot allow it. All the Black Knights will be gathered together; Winchester, Derham, Rotherham, and the rest of the Sheriff's traitorous gang. I may never have the chance again, and I cannot allow this opportunity to pass. I must kill them._

"_I only hope you remember me well, and forgive the brutality of what I am going to do. If England is to live, they must die. And so, I fear, must I._

"_Go to the Woods to fight again. Go with my lads. I will see you in Heaven._

"_Goodbye, my Love."_

Marian could not help herself. She collapsed into her chair and began to weep heavy tears.

The utter _fool!_ So impetuous! She knew he lived, and yet, the very thought of his death, for England, for _anything,_ was so painful to her. As painful as the raw skin she had yet to bandage. She would have done what he asked, she would have taken to the woods with his lads and lived to fight again, if that had been his dying wish. Anything for him. As he would have risked all to save her, and her father, today. _Any_ day.

A knock on the door roused her from her grief. Wiping tears away quickly, but knowing very well there were traces still, she opened the heavy door.

It was Robin. She would recognize him under any ridiculous costume or hat.

"Sir Guy told the kitchens to prepare you some vittles," he informed her, disguising his voice.

Marian moved silently out of his way and closed the door behind him. Robin pushed a heavy chest in front before taking her into his arms.

She stopped crying in that instant. "You idiot," Marian breathed.

"What have I done now?"

"I got your note," she said by way of answer.

"Oh." He waited a moment, and then said, "Marian, I tried to find you, only you were gone- I did not know you were chained to Winchester. The note… it was a last resort."

She held him tighter. He leaned down and kissed her gently, the stubble of his beard scratching lightly against her face. For all that her heart had broken just a moment before, he was mending the cracks again. Robin had a way of redeeming himself, every single time. Marian thought it might have something to do with him always putting her first. Even when he was going to what would certainly be his death, he paused to write her a love note.

After a few moments spent leisurely tasting each other's lips, Marian heard Robin's stomach growl.

Laughing, she pulled away. "Would you like something to eat?" she offered.

"Not until you get your fill."

"I assure you, I am not hungry. I only require the wine and water."

Robin cocked an eyebrow.

Her smile faded slightly. "Not to drink." She gestured to her exposed left wrist.

Robin's amused features changed to concern and he tenderly took her fingers in his hand, turning to see the underside of her wrist. While her hands were calloused from her bow string and her grip with the reigns, her wrist was usually covered with her leather arm guard, or at least a heavy sleeve, to prevent the bow string from snapping painfully against it. The usually protected skin had never been exposed to such abuse as a wrist-cuff.

"Who did this to you?"

"Sir Guy had his men put the chains on me initially. But Winchester tightened them."

She watched again as Robin's features changed, this time to anger.

"Winchester is already dead. But I will kill Gisbourne," he vowed. "He pays you pretty compliments, but then he does… this!" He gestured at her wrists.

Marian shuddered. "Please do not make such speeches. We do not have long together, and I would prefer you did not get arrested while in my bedchamber for speaking so boldly. We can find more industrious activity that hopefully will not lead to the seizure of either of us."

She turned to sit down again, and pulled up her skirt and rolling down the hose she was wearing, leaving her legs bare, at least up to the knee.

"What did you have in mind?" he said, curious.

She gave him a withering glance. "Inspecting my ankles."

"Ankles?" he almost whispered.

She was having trouble seeing her Achilles tendon.

Robin knelt before her. "Allow me?" he asked reverently.

Marian inspected his face. Robin's countenance always revealed what he was thinking. She found not a trace of lust there, only concern for her well-being. "Very well," she conceded.

He sat back on his heels and took her right foot in his lap. He slowly inspected the gashes made by the manacles. The intimacy of the act made her blush. He had never seen her feet like this before. Which was ridiculous. She often had romped barefoot when she was a child, and he was her closest playmate. He had seen more of her skin than any other suitor.

But not like this, not with such tender observation.

"It is not as bad as the wound on your wrist," he said, letting her right foot rest and lifted her left. "Neither is this one. Have you a basin?"

"Yes," she said, making to stand.

"I will get it," he said, not relinquishing her foot.

"It is on the bedside table."

He released her toes, got up, and got the basin.

"There are rags you can use in the top drawer of that chest," Marian indicated. "There should be some long enough for bandaging."

Rob pulled some out of the drawer and carried them and the basin back to her feet. He then reached for the wine and the water, mixing them in the basin and wetting one of the rags.

"This rag is cold and… something else unpleasant. Are you prepared?"

She laughed quietly, knowing he was trying to throw her words back at her… _this needle is thick and blunt_…."

"Carry on," she directed. As soon as the rag touched her skin, she clamped her hands on the seat of the chair and bit her lower lip. Why did the alcohol have to burn so? She supposed it helped against infection, but _still_. Robin was being as gentle as he could be, and also as quick as he could be.

After a few moments, he had tied a long soft rag loosely around one of her ankles, and reached for the other. He worked silently. The only sounds on the room were her breathing (heavier than usual) and the splash of the rag in the basin.

Another minute or so, and he was tying the second rag off.

"Finished," he announced. "Now to your wrists."

"Robin, I can do them."

"And how do you plan on securing the bandages?"

He had her there.

"Go on, then," Marian complied. She slid of the chair and sat cross-legged in front of him, careful to arrange her skirt so it covered her legs. She offered her left wrist to him.

He took her fingers as before, and kissed her palm before beginning his ministrations again.

She could not help herself. This time when the cold rag touched her mangled skin, she hissed in pain.

Robin looked concerned, but then said, "They would not have been so bad if you had not struggled so hard."

She tried to scoff at that, but it came out a half a yelp as he placed the rag on a new part of the wrist. "Would you not have struggled, then?"

Robin chuckled, "I am merely stating a fact. I fully expect that you would have cut off your own hand to escape these shackles."

"I would have," she warned. "Had there been no other way."

"I know, Marian. It is why I said it. We are alike in this manner."

He tied the bandage around her left wrist and she surrendered her right. Carefully, he pulled the sleeve away from the wound. Being that she was right handed, this wrist was in far worse condition. She had struggled harder, and as such, her red sleeve had become attached to the delicate tissue that used to be her skin. Tears started afresh in her eyes. She bit her lip to keep from shouting as Robin gently peeled the sleeve away from the wound.

Once the gashes were free from the fabric, he finished rolling up the sleeve, leaving her to whisper, "Ouch."

"I know, my Love," he said, empathetically. "We are nearly there."

He dipped the rag in the basin again, and as he brought it back to her wrist, she closed her eyes. It did no good, the pain still burned in the same way the manacle had.

"What hurt worse, being stabbed, operated on, or this?"

"Not helping," she gritted out.

"Sorry." After a few moments more, he kissed her palm.

She opened an eye.

"We are finished now," he said.

"Thank you, Robin."

"Do not mention it. You would have done the same for me."

He stood up and went to the window, dumping the wine, water (and blood) out into the courtyard. Marian heard him move around the room, setting things to order. She remained on the floor, inspecting the bandages around her wrists.

Sir Guy had put manacles on her wrists. _And_ her ankles. He had bound her and given her to another man for the sake of power. For the Sheriff's quest for power. She would not even have the opportunity to say goodbye to her Father. He too was bound and chained in the dungeons, at the Sheriff's bidding. By Sir Guy's hand. So much for all those pretty words he gave her. They meant nothing if he was willing to treat her thus.

Robin had bandaged her back together. For all that her wrists and ankles were still bound, in this manner they were healing. From his very touch. The clean linen rags did not limit her movements. She could run and fight if the need arose. Perhaps it was the practicality of the thing, that she might need to take up arms. But Marian thought he would not limit her activities, prevent her from doing things, even if she did not have to fight. Oddly, she was free with Robin. And as for his drivel… he did not waste as many words as he had in days passed. They had so few romantic interludes these days.

Robin stood in front of her. "How did I do?"

"Wonderfully," she said, reaching up.

He pulled her to her feet and held her again. "I am only sorry I did not get to you before Gisbourne did."

"He was apparently with me the whole time. Your rescue would have ended with a battle."

He sighed into her hair. "You know, Much spends a lot of his time looking for the bright side of life."

"He is an incurable optimist," Marian agreed.

"He was wondering what the good bit of today was, and he said that it was that I was alive." He lifted her chin to study her face.

"Well, that _is_ a good bit. I am going to have to agree with him there," Marian met his eyes and smiled.

"Thank you," Robin said and then continued. "But I think the good bit is that you are not part and parcel to a traitor's pact, and not riding off in chains in some double crossing nobleman's carriage."

"You are very good with speeches and declarations, you know."

"Thank you, my Lady."

"Can we not agree that _this_, here, right now, me in your arms, is the good bit of today?"

"You are wounded, so perhaps it is not the _best_ bit."

She laughed. "Let me sit, Robin. My ankles protest."

He let her go. She walked to her bed and sat down, wrinkling the fine blankets. Robin leaned over the desk and waited for her to speak again.

"This is no good, for now my arms protest that they are not wrapped around you." She looked at him in askance.

"You are not so bad with speeches and declarations yourself," Robin grinned, crossing the room.

He sat down next to her and they kissed again.

"I cannot linger much longer," Robin warned.

She sighed. "I know."

"Come with me, into Sherwood. We shall be so happy there, Marian."

"Robin of Locksley, I would have, you know," she looked down, unsure of what exactly she wished to tell him.

He looked so surprised and hopeful.

She lifted her hand and caressed his cheek. "You told me to, in your note. That you did not expect to survive, and that I should fight with your men in the Green. And I would have."

"Why should my being alive change anything? Are we so destined to be separated?"

She buried her head in his shoulder. "Robin, this is so hard. I want to fight with you, alongside you for all to see. But my Father." It was true. Marian was expected to bring her father food and drink- certainly the Sheriff did not pay for any prisoner's bread out of his own coffers. Marian often snuck food to the poorer prisoners detained there.

"Oh yes, your Father. How could I forget," he said a little colder than he intended.

Her head snapped back up to speak in her own defense, "You have almost no attachments now, Robin. You have your King, who is thousands of miles away, and you have your men, secreted in Sherwood."

"I have you, Marian," his voice was low. "I want to be with you, fight with you, but I cannot if you are here in the castle. And while you are more capable a politician that I am, you are also a pawn of the Crown. I nearly lost you today."

She kissed him. "And you would have rescued me. Or I would have rescued myself. You have very little to fear for me. I choose battles that I know I can win." She kissed him again. "And someday, I shall come for you in Sherwood, either when my father has… died," she choked a little on the word, "or the Sheriff has been deposed. I will come for you, as Menelaus comes for Helen."

"Do I get to be Helen?" he teased, attempting to lighten the mood.

"I should not have said that. As handsome (or vain) as you are, I doubt your face shall launch a thousand ships to war."

"As long as you come, with your sword, or your bow, pointed towards the Heavens, I have no wish for even one little ship. I wish I could give you a token, but if the Sheriff or Gisbourne found it, your secret would be out. It is bad enough that Allan already knows it. I am afraid that you will have to even burn the note I left you today."

"I do not need a token, Robin. I have your heart, and you have mine."

The lingered a little longer, enjoying the good bit of their long day as long as they dared. Eventually Robin had to sneak out, before the guards were tightened.

"I hope you are the good bit of tomorrow, Marian," he said at their parting.

She passed him some of the food he had brought. "Someone will need to attend to my wounds," Marian reminded him.

Robin winked at her before disappearing into the night.


End file.
